As a child I would often be told off in class for daydreaming – drifting away from the world I was in while sat at a desk with the initials of previous students carved into its wooden surface and a redundant inkwell still stained with blue ink from a decade or more before when biros arrived instead of ink pens.
My imagination would lift me out of the uncomfortable plastic chair, away from the droning tones of my teacher and up into the sky I could see out of the classroom window.
I’m not sure quite where I went, but it was definitely outside and into the company of birds, insects and animals.
I recently had a couple of long days at my desk ploughing through some work and caught myself several times gazing out of the window watching the birds in the bird feeder instead of getting on with work.
I was utterly immersed in observing the different feeding techniques of finches and tits using their beaks and feet to break open sunflower seeds, the woodpecker’s frantic approach of smashing at the fat balls in the feeder and getting just a small amount of what it actually broke off, while the pied wagtails and robins gratefully hung about beneath the feeder pecking at all of the fragments showering down.
I had to drag my attention back to my screen to get on with my work and was reminded of my daydreaming younger self.
As an adult, whenever I have had a big decision to make I have taken myself to an outside space – I have ironed out some of my biggest life choices while pacing up and down a beach, walking through woodland, sitting under a tree, climbing up a hill or swimming in a loch.
I have gained perspective from gazing up at an inky black night sky, trying – and failing – to count the stars.
I have idled away the time sitting in a car waiting for someone who is running late watching raindrops trail down the window or drawing pictures in the steamed-up windows.
I have calmed bored or fractious children by trying to spot creatures in the clouds above us – or worn off too much energy by jumping in puddles.
There is something about the outside, or even just the observation of it from indoors, which can take us out of ourselves, quieten our inner noise, absorb our excess energy, distract just enough to bring back focus, carry us away when we need to take a break from where we are.
As the spring arrives I am feeling the call of the soil once more – the urge to plant seeds and tend them as they grow.
I am eager to experience the new season with all of my senses; to spot the first lamb, hear the first cuckoo call,
I am drawn to forage the tender nettles, the fragrant wild garlic, the vibrant first mint leaves to smell and taste their freshness and to feel the air and water start to warm up as the chill of winter finally leaves.
The outdoors is calling and its voice is louder than that of my geography teacher, trying to educate me about the water cycle, the biology of plants and the reasons for earthquakes and thunderstorms ever managed to be.
Yes! I would like to be sent emails from West Coast Today
I understand that my personal information will not be shared with any third parties, and will only be used to provide me with useful targeted articles as indicated.
I'm also aware that I can un-subscribe at any point either from each email notification or on My Account screen.